The Boring Stuff
by IBuriedTheLede
Summary: There have been several seconds for William Darcy today. But not even a second, terrifically embarrassing attempt at costume theater can overshadow the fact that Lizzie Bennet has voluntarily touched him for the second time. LBD Universe, set immediately after episode 83.


William Darcy couldn't concentrate. He had things to do today: a conference call with the London office in twenty minutes, a budget meeting with his CFO after that, and then dinner with a potential new investor he deeply wanted to impress. But, try as he might, he could not force his mind to focus.

_Ok, five minutes. You get five minutes, and then you have to work.  
_  
William closed his eyes and remembered.

She touched him.

Voluntarily.

She touched him, on his shoulder, voluntarily.

She, Lizzie Bennet, had touched him, William Darcy, on his shoulder, because she wanted to.

Yes, all right, perhaps it had been because he sat in her way of the office door and his shoulder was the easiest way of steadying herself while moving to close it. But still. She could have gone around the other way. She didn't have to swivel around behind him.

But she did. Because she chose to. And that resulted in not the first but the second time at Pemberley Digital that Lizzie Bennet had willfully touched him, William Darcy, and that was phenomenal in a way he couldn't adequately verbalize or conceptualize. He felt like his skin was buzzing. One brief touch and she still managed to send an electric shock through his jacket, past his dress shirt, underneath his undershirt, through his shoulder and straight to his heart. If her touch had that much power on top of his jacket, William couldn't even imagine what it would feel like on his bare skin.

_Too far. Too far. Back up.  
_  
William's eyes snapped back open. That was most definitely _not_ the line of thought he needed to be considering in the middle of the day, in his office, no less. But as soon as he opened his eyes, they focused on an image of them, together, on his computer screen. He had pulled up the video after giving up one of his more fruitless attempts at productivity.

He looked so happy.

She was _so_ beautiful.

William wondered yet again if she knew the kind of power she held over him, how he was absolute putty in her hands. He hadn't been lying when he said he would make time for her interview; he had canceled a phone appointment and ignored several emails marked urgent on his way up to the third floor to get what he now called the Fitz 'fro. He had ignored the baffled glances, raised eyebrows and unasked questions of his production department when he asked them to look for the wig. It was all worth it. The feeling coursing through his veins now was the closest thing to joy he'd felt in a long, long time, and William wouldn't trade that feeling in for anything.

And one of the most profound moments of all — even beyond being touched by her voluntarily, which already ranked among the more exciting instances in his life — was the fact that they had been able to have an actual conversation, with actual words.

He was trying, really trying, to see things from a different point of view. He was determined to show her that he was different, that he had listened, that he had heard her. He needed her to see that he had heard all of it — soulless, joyless newsie; stuck up, pompous prick; robot — and had been adequately humbled by it.

William wished he hadn't used the word "mocking," though he had caught himself just in time to apologize. But now, thinking back on it, perhaps it was for the best. The truth was harsh and so had her videos been. But it sounded like she too had come to understand how powerful her words could be on the thoughts and feelings of others. And he had come to realize how, since his letter, he hadn't heard those insults anymore.

He couldn't quite shake the feeling that she hadn't really been talking about her mother when discussing costume theater earlier today, just as William hadn't really been talking about Bing when he took off his own newsie hat and looked, really looked, at Lizzie.

Sometimes, with her, it felt like what wasn't said was just as important, if not more so, than what was.

William's sure he wrote a paper on that in college once, about how the subtext in film is just as important as what the characters are saying aloud. Not that he considers himself a character in a film, gosh no, but there was the ever-present camera on Lizzie's desk and, well, it wasn't too much of an imaginative leap.

He had spoken the truth when he discussed the unique creativity behind her videos. He hoped she had heard that, and hoped even more that she had heard his silent request that she return to Pemberley Digital after her graduation. His company was in the business of telling stories; she was a natural storyteller. It only fit. And she seemed to like it here. Her supervisors loved her.

He loved her.

Gasping a quick inward breath, William shut his eyes again. He had become so used to shoving that thought away and ignoring his feelings that their sudden reappearance was quite unexpected. But honestly, was there really any point anymore in ignoring or pretending otherwise? He loved her. He had never stopped. And now that she was here, with him, at his company, his feelings had only reignited with a vengeance.

Their tour of the city had been his first sign that perhaps her feelings toward him were not quite as antagonistic as they had once been. For once, William was grateful that Gigi had her head buried in her phone for most of the day. It left him as the lead tour guide, discussing different historical sites and interesting trivia he had learned over the years. Lizzie had seemed genuinely interested in the city. But it wasn't until William got back home and could adequately see all the photos Gigi uploaded that Lizzie also seemed to be showing a genuine interest in, well, _him_.

He had forgone his contacts, and even his hair gel — "_Blasphemy!_" Gigi had exclaimed with a laugh when he had shown up downstairs before their day began — and had hoped beyond all hopes that Lizzie could appreciate his attempt at being casual. It was for her. It was all for her.

And then with the video today! He knew his read on social interactions was not the best, but even he could recognize flirting. At least, he thought he could. That had been flirting, right? That had to be flirting. She touched his shoulder — voluntarily! She smiled at him — voluntarily! She even laughed at a joke that he was intentionally trying to make, instead of at something stupid he'd said or worse, at him in general. This was progress.

He wondered if she realized how rare it was for him to willingly place himself in a situation that opened him up to ridicule. He so rarely allowed himself any kind of opportunity for public silliness — excepting a few of Gigi's early birthday parties, he couldn't remember the last time he put on such a ridiculous costume.

He was trying, he really was. He hoped she could see that. He hoped she understood how much he had changed, both for her and because of her.

Caroline once told him that hope was for fools and dreamers, and that the realists, the pragmatists, and the rich were the ones who would determine how life and society functioned. This was, of course, immediately prior to her attempting to shove her tongue down his throat. William shuddered at the memory. He rather liked the idea of hope. Hope was the only thing stronger than fear. Hope had gotten him through his parents' death — the hope that tomorrow could be a better day. That Gigi would be all right. That he could build Pemberley into something that his father and mother would be proud of. Hope was the only thing that helped him overcome his paralyzing fear — of life, of love, of being somewhere or doing something or saying something wrong.

Fear that the feeling of his broken heart would never dissipate was slowly being replaced by the hope that perhaps that feeling could end, and would end soon, and that made him so glad he could hardly stand it. And the fact that Lizzie Bennet —_ the_ Lizzie Bennet — was the source of that hope? Well, that was just the icing on the cake.

* * *

That following Monday, William waited until a little past noon before he picked up his phone and dialed Fitz. He couldn't even get a word out before Fitz exclaimed, "Darcy, my man! Much improved. Much, _much_ improved. I am very impressed."

William chuckled. "You really think it was good?"

"Good? Good? It was _great_. And it wasn't just your awesome impression of me — which was _awesome_. Everything about it was fantastic. Team Darcy _for the win_!" Fitz proclaims this with his typical exuberance, and William can't help but revel in it.

"You don't think the 'you wanted me' thing was too much?"

"Are you kidding? You threw her off her guard! Lizzie could use some of that sometimes. It was perfect."

"Fitz..." William fidgeted with the pen on his desk, desperately wanting to ask the question on his mind, but feeling a touch embarrassed. Then he remembered that he appeared in Lizzie's video just a few short minutes ago wearing a newsie hat with a Hawaiian flower attached to it. If he had already embarrassed himself enough for the day — well, what's one more question? "Fitz, do you think she was flirting with me?"

Fitz, to his infinite credit, didn't laugh. "There was definite flirtation action going on," he said seriously — or, at least, serious by Fitz standards, which in all respects was downright cheery.

"Really?"

"She leaned."

"She _leaned_?" What was it with Fitz and Gigi and leaning? William would have to ask later.

"She leaned. And smiled. And she touched your shoulder!" Fitz collapsed into a fit of laughter.

Darcy smiled, wide and broad, and leaned back in his desk chair. He could hardly stop from bursting into laughter himself. "I know, Fitz. I know."

_Fin_

* * *

**I just had to. Because reasons. And feelings. Thank you for reading, and please review!**


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